Behind the Wall Where Men and Angels Fall
by Samurai Smee
Summary: SPN with an Assassin's Creed twist! Castiel and the angels are Assassins with the Brotherhood, trained to kill the corrupt during 16th Century Roma. The Winchesters are the most notorious organized crime syndicates. Cas is assigned to kill the leader's right-hand man Dean, but one look into those lovely jade eyes has him doubting everything he had ever been taught. Destiel!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Behind the Wall Where Men and Angels Fall

**Chapter One**

_Third Person POV_

"And now, my children...let us all pray the Holy Rosary together..." the priest spoke with practiced ease to the churchgoers that filled the wooden pews of the Santa Maria Cathedral, his smile seeming almost too big across his thin cheeks and gilded eyes that peered keenly through the people while he continued with the service.

The catholic church swelled with the monotonous sounds of the prayer being said by the attendants of Mass, everyone speaking the ancient words they had memorized as they prayed to the Mother of Jesus...all except one man.

High above their heads, perched atop one of the the large, wooden support beams that ran horizontally across the grand stone cathedral, ice-blue eyes watched over the service with calculated patience.

The man's long white robes covered almost his entire body, his deep hood pulled over his head and shadowed the top half of his face as he watched as the day's mass concluded and the people filed to the front of the church to shake the father's hand and exchange a few words on the way out.

Father Alistair was a valued member of the clergy within this part of the city, his opinion held in high in several communities, and his status quite impenetrable as as result.

The hooded male watched as the priest waved at the last person before turning around in his place so he may begin heading towards the back rooms of the cathedral.

The white-clad male dropped down silently to another section of wooden beams that criss-crossed below him, the tall-reaching, stained-glasses windows creating a colorful parameter around each side of the building, as he placed his hands along the edges of the smooth grain and let his weight descend down.

His breathing was steady, his mind crystal-clear as he knew to keep his muscles relaxed while he waited, bode his time and paced his strength, ignoring the dull aching creeping into either of his shoulders as they supported all of his weight currently hanging suspended in mid-air.

Father Alistair finally closed the door behind him and no later had he done so did the hooded male release his grip from the wooden beam so that he first landed on the back of one of the pews on his toes before he gracefully hopped down to the marble floor.

The information that the general public did not know about the good priest was that he was also an extremely important arms dealer within one of the most powerful syndicates in the area.

Alistair was in the business of trading lives for weapons, for smuggling what an average crook could not and profiting greatly because of it.

The man dressed in flowing white robes and red sash walked briskly down the main aisle towards the same room, already knowing what he would have to do and the manner in which he would do it.

It was only a matter of time.

The hooded male immediately turned around and pressed his back to the stone wall beside the outer room, able to hear as Alistair as poured a drink and then noisily gulped it down before slamming down the glass.

He took a deep breath and held it, knowing from observing the priest for a few days prior that he would always go back to that room to indulge in the sacrificial wine before reappearing back inside the main area of the church to lock down the doors.

"Ugh...fucking people...good for nothing, all of them...only good for the money they give...ha!" Alistair muttered angrily to himself as he threw open the door and began trudging back towards the alter, walking right passed the white-robed male as he had not seem him there against the wall.

He followed the priest, easily catching up to him and grabbing one of his arms to twist behind his back while his other hand flexed out at his side and released a long blade that had been hidden in his thick, leather gauntlet that covered his hands and forearms.

"What the hell! Who are you! Release me now, you imbecile!" Alistair struggled against the man's steeled grip but his efforts were to no avail as he could not move away in the least, nor could he see the man's sharp blade coming up to his throat, "...this...this is a house of God! How dare you...!"

"Then may God have mercy on your soul," the hooded male spoke, his naturally low tone sounding like smoke wafting up from ashes to the panicking priest before he suddenly sliced through Alistair's vulnerable throat with his blade, not even waiting for blood to spew forth before retracting his weapon and snapping it back in its secret sheathe along his arm.

The hooded male turned his back to the bleeding body now lying at his feet and staining the otherwise pristine marble, as he sprinted towards a pew a few yards ahead, and, with a mighty step off of it, propelled himself up towards one of the nearest flag poles that hung down.

On the balls of his feet, the master assassin balanced his weight on the narrow, metal flag pole before leaping to the next one that was further towards the back of the cathedral.

His footing was expert and careful, none of his movements wasted as he quickly climbed from his new position out of the opened window that he knew would lead to the eastern balconies and his escape.

The sun was setting, putting the beautiful orange-pink glow of the setting sun at his back as the white-clad man inhaled the crisp evening air and then exploded into a speedy run towards the edge of the balcony.

His lovely eyes were narrowed in concentration and the wind hitting his face chilled his full lips, as he suddenly dove off of the balcony and towards a much lower building.

His feet made contact with the other building's roof within seconds, the assassin having to bend his knees and curl his body into a forward roll in order to safely absorb the impact from his leap, his robes fluttering behind him as he stood up and did not look back towards Santa Maria Cathedral.

He had to keep going; he still had much ground to cover in order to make it back to the Brotherhood and report his mission a success.

Knowing that there was a smaller shack nestled in close to this building, the man simply stepped off of the side of the roof, his robes and red sash raising a bit and showing several daggers in leather holsters strapped to his sides before he landed on top of the shack and then was able to easily navigate down to ground level.

The assassin took a moment to adjust the large, pointed hood over his head again as it had dropped back from his many considerable jumps to reveal unruly, spiky black hair and half-lidded eyes the color of a frozen winter lake, features he knew would make him recognizable to even the average onlooker.

With that done, he dropped his arms and stretched his fingers at his sides, walking through the throngs of people that were busily moving from one part of the marketplace to the next to collect their evening meals, the assassin weaving in and out of the crowds effortlessly.

It was the first rule, after all, of his creed to blend in with the rest of society and to not stand out as an assassin.

X

Meanwhile, at another part of town...

"The newest shipment has arrived, father...I made sure it was secured myself," a young man with piercing green eyes informed the older gentleman currently sitting behind a cluttered, black desk, his fingers toying with a cigar as he listened to the report.

The older male raised his aged but sharp eyes, his fingers ceasing rolling the cigar as he fixed his eldest son with a hard stare.

"Dean, I am only going to say this once..." he informed his son, watching as the younger male straightened his shoulders a little more upon being addressed by his first name, his jaw set in a hard line and his hands folded formally behind his back while he listened, "...this is important that this gets to us. No more mistakes, you understand? Our organization has a lot riding of the shipment of those packages. Do I make myself clear?"

Dean swallow hard, his eyes leaving his father's strangling stare as he placed his gaze somewhere over his head.

"Perfectly clear. I will not fail you, father," Dean replied militantly to his father, not missing the way he smirked at Dean's answer and sat back in his plush chair.

"Good...I expect nothing but the best from you and your brother," he concluded, placing the cigar in between his teeth and raising a dismissive hand towards the door, "...now go."

Dean nodded his head and swiftly exited his father's study, feeling like he was finally able to breathe once was he was outside of the darkened room and away from such a stifling presence.

As much as Dean loved and respected his father, the older man could be too intense, too ruthless with him and the rest of the subordinates.

Dean frowned as he walked down one of the lengthy corridors of their enormous manor, the eldest of the two brothers usually feeling nothing but admiration for this father, the esteemed head of the Winchester Fratello...but he could not help the growing feeling of...foreboding.

They were the most prominent group that oversaw certain businesses becoming successful, certain people becoming more than wealthy by any means necessary.

In a 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours' type of economy, the Winchester Fratello thrived in selling their handiwork and expertise of getting done the tasks they were asked to do with typically no qualms about the subject.

The group profited in the long run, able to call in favors from powerful individuals when it was the most opportune time, and John Winchester had mastered how to manipulate those around him so that circumstances played out exactly how he wanted them to.

Dean Winchester had learned everything he knew about their organization from his father, was a major part of their success because of him, and due to his training in the military, had been made as one of the overseers of much of their business dealings.

Over the years, Dean had trained the organization's recruits, established and executed operations with other well-known factions, and generally was his father's right-hand man when it came to his protection.

However, something about this particular deal was not sitting right with the blonde-haired male, as if this one time, he could already foretell that something was going to go horribly wrong...

"_I better go see that those chuckle-heads haven't screwed up anything yet..."_ Dead forced the thought inside his mind as he navigated through the main corridor and towards the gardens of the estate, needing to get to the docks across town as soon as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Third Person POV_

One week later...

"Castiel...thank you for coming on such short notice..." one of the Heads of the Brotherhood addressed the Master Assassin as the latter entered into the lavish library of their amazing fortress.

"Grandmaster Uriel..." Castiel greeted his former teacher and friend, someone with whom he had learned the techniques of becoming an assassin, had had training classes, and respected as a wise person within their ranks.

The dark-skinned male motioned for Castiel to have a seat to which he obeyed without question, sitting at the masterfully crafted wooden table in the center of the spacious room facing his superior and awaiting instructions.

"You did excellent work with your last mission, Castiel...Father Alistair was someone we've wanted taken care of for a long time," Uriel spoke fondly as he smirked warmly at the black-haired male, blinking at the way Castiel lowered his eyes as his way of accepting such praise.

"Thank you, Grandmaster," Castiel's rough voice sounded light amidst such a vast area, as he lifted up his striking blue gaze again and sought out his friend, "...did you have something else for me? Another mission?"

"Straight to business as usual...I've always liked that about you, Castiel," Uriel chuckled as he slid the yellowed piece of parchment across the table to his counterpart, watching patiently as Castiel leaned forward to retrieve the paper and bring it in front of him, "...we do have another matter for you to take care of. It's urgent, Castiel...this comes from above."

Castiel stayed silent for another moment as he finished reading over the details written hastily over the parchment.

It included dates, times, various places around a separate part of town...and a single name that stood out amongst all other information.

That was his target; that was the man the Brotherhood wanted him to kill.

"From the looks of these details, the area has already been scouted...when do I leave?" Castiel memorized the information provided before he slid the paper away from him, locking his water-colored gaze onto Uriel's midnight eyes watching him somberly.

"Immediately," the Grandmaster answered and adjourned their brief meeting, knowing that someone with Castiel's skills would not need any more information on the matter in order to know what to do.

X

That evening...

"Get those crates over there! Come on, we don't have all night!" a strong, certain voice called out above the rest of the idle chatter and noise around the docks, as Dean Winchester directed another group of men in hauling over their plentiful cargo.

The nighttime air was crisp and chilled, seeming to be in perfect harmony with the inky purple-blue of the darkened sky that colored the area and melded in with the sleeping ocean.

Several men were moving newly arrived wooden crates from the docks to the sides of the street to be stacked along carts and later hauled back into town, the process happening rather slowly given just how many crates there were to be picked up.

Neatly organized rows of the large boxes made long lines across the expansive dock area, the men only able to take a few at a time back towards the rest to create their own stacks for later sorting.

Meanwhile, off an at angle away from the workers' direct lines of sight, light-blue eyes watched the way the formations of groups moved, noticing their numbers and when each group seemed to be at what place at any one time.

There was an overall pattern to their movements, whether consciously or otherwise, and Castiel waiting until just the right time to move.

The white-dressed man stepped off of the ledge of the still-being-renovated clock tower he had been residing for the last hour as he wrapped his fingers around the rope that hung down almost to the ground.

Slowly, Castiel let the thick rope pass through his hands, allowing him to descend down at his own pace, his movements careful not to jostle the rope too much in order to avoid swinging and catching unwanted attention.

Suddenly, one of the groups of men strayed a little further away from the rest, coming closer to Castiel's position.

The master assassin froze, stopping his descent with a harsh squeeze of his hands along the rope.

"...man's a damn slave-driver! It better be some damn good money that he's promising us for breaking our backs like this," one of the burly goons grumbled to the other, both of them hiking their collars a little higher along their necks to ward off the cold as a breeze passed briefly by the scene.

The gust of wind had felt freezing cold against Castiel's cheeks, but he did not move until he saw the two cohorts quickly light a cigarette, take a few puffs each, and then throw it to the ground and hustle back to resume working.

The black-haired male breathed a bit easier as he finished sliding down the rest of the rope so he may hurriedly drop to the ground and into a low crouch before moving behind one of the wooden crates that compiled a small maze that the men were working through.

"No, no...those need to go over there!" that same booming voice commanded once again to the rest of the workers, his shining jade eyes reading over a piece of parchment in his hands all the while, "...that's the order that goes to Florence! Put them over there!"

Castiel pressed his back against the rough crate, ever-so slightly tilting his head passed the edge so he could cast his hidden gaze on the goings-on, needing to seek out his target and fast.

"_...Dean Winchester...that must be him,"_ Castiel thought to himself as he glared at the tall, strongly-built male currently several yards ahead of him, standing with his hands behind his back unless he had to point at something else and bark out another order.

The white-clad assassin licked his cold lips in thought, eying the man's regal posture, showcasing a strict upbringing and likely military training, as he took in his target's broad shoulders and powerful presence.

He could not deny that the Winchester male was handsome, exuding power and control in the way his lovely eyes were kept narrowed while he gave out his orders; even the way his short, blonde spikes of hair seemed to command attention drew Castiel to continue looking at him as if the assassin could not figure out such a creature.

Behind those soft emerald eyes of his that scanned from one end of the docks to the next, Castiel could not also help but notice the way there was an overwhelming present of...pain...within Dean.

Castiel tilted his head a little more to a side as the realization struck him firmly inside his mind, the keen assassin able to see through the piercing expressions in that there was an unmistakeable guilt and depression within that proud man.

An emptiness.

The black-haired assassin knew that look all too well.

It was the same one he often saw on his own features.

"You! You there! What are you doing?!" an obese dock-worker suddenly bellowed out for all to hear, his beady eyes having spotted the white-robed person behind their crates as he pointed a meaty finger towards his direction.

"...great," Castiel muttered sarcastically to himself as he stood up to his full height, seeing as a few of the more bulkier of men had already started to march over towards him with malicious grins on their faces.

"Hey, you...what the hell are you doing here?" one of the men leaned in close to Castiel, his height easily towering over the assassin as he put his large hand on his shoulder and tried to see his face.

Castiel did not move, his head lowered and his face completely shadowed in black from the hood, as he let the man place his dirty hand on his shoulder, let him turn back to his other comrades joining the scene and chuckle at a joke he had made...let him think that they had the upper hand.

"_...never raise your blade to the innocent,"_ Castiel remembered another, crucial part of the creed of his Brotherhood, his jaw tightening for a moment, not noticing the way that Dean Winchester was also slowly walking towards the commotion.

"So, what's up with you, huh? Are you going to start talking or what?" the worker taunted Castiel once more.

"_...that only means I cannot kill them...I can still punish them," _the assassin amended the sacred words of his oath inside his own mind, before suddenly springing into action not a moment later.

In a rush of movements far too quick for their eyes to behold clearly against the darkness, Castiel had reached his hands into the opposite sides of his robes and retrieved a few of his shorter blades, ducking down low and out of the tall man's reach.

"Hey! Get him!" one of them growled out, but Castiel was already moving, too much practice and hard-earned skill showing through in his strikes as he tripped the first male closest to him by knocking his legs out from under him.

He stayed low, his knives held in a offensive position as he turned on the balls of his feet, effectively slicing his blades through the legs of two more and making them fall as well.

Dean's eyes widened and he stopped walking, choosing instead to continue watching the white-dressed stranger from his distance as he took down goon after goon.

Castiel turned the blades around in his grip and then hopped backwards, landing on top of one of the large crates just in time to avoid being tackled by another man that had come barreling straight towards him.

Using the height to his advantage, Castiel began running down the tops of the crates, knowing that the men still unharmed would be following him and probably trying to climb up to his level as well.

He had to move fast; there were too many of them and he had already failed his mission.

"Don't let him escape! You hear me, you dogs! I want him alive!" Dean hollered out with a sharp wave of his hand as he watched the mysterious man try to flee the area, Dean walking briskly along with the rest of the men as they followed his trail.

Castiel leaped from the last crate towards a storage building tucked into one corner of the docking area, planting his feet firmly against the stone for only a split second before having to use his momentum to launch towards another roof kept adjacent to his position, his movement almost appearing as if the mortal man was able to ricochet out of thin air.

"No! Stop him! Twenty pieces of silver to the man who brings him to me!" Dean Winchester was furious as well as intrigued by the man's techniques, watching how nimbly he was able to navigate through the seemingly unapproachable areas as if this was no challenge at all.

Castiel could hear Dean hollering for his capture as he flew through the air with one of his hands reaching far out to catch himself on that roof, his breathing labored now and his cheeks feeling as if they were frozen solid beneath his eyes as he forced himself to keep fleeing.

His single hand caught the edge of the rooftop and the master assassin grit his teeth in pain as several slivers of broken stone wedged themselves into his skin as he halted for a moment to sheathe his knives held in his other hand so he may pull himself up.

However, even as he pulled his weight up to the roof, his pale azure eyes could see as a few of the Winchester's henchmen were closing in on him, them having had to double-back and find another way to scale the building.

Castiel stood at the ready with his clenched fists down at his sides, not drawing his weapons this time as they men ran after him, snarling curses and their promise of silver for his capture.

He took a deep breath, slowing down time inside his mind, forcing himself to handle the situation with a clear head and rational sense, as he easily dodged the first male's reckless charge, side-stepped the second attacker and then twisted his arm at an unnatural angle.

The man cried out in sheer agony, tapping his shoulder repeatedly with his other hand before a deafening crack could be heard as his bones gave way to the incessant pressure and broke right before Castiel's calm gaze.

The man crumpled to the rooftop as the first man came back and a third approached as well, these two finally taking their time in dealing with the evidently trained individual and deciding not to rush him again.

They both walked towards each of Castiel's flanks, both of them drawing knives that glinted in the dull moonlight above as Castiel spared a moment to lick his drying lips.

Then, in a flash like lightning striking a single space, the two men attacked, slashing at the assassin's throat, trying for his stomach, in a series of surprisingly talented maneuvers.

The blue-eyed male grabbed another arm, pivoted out of the other man's way, kicked one to the ground, knocked away an incoming knife aimed at his ribs, blocked a myriad of punches against his forearms, and then delivered a few punches himself.

One of his punches connected to the man's gut but he quickly held up his fists and blocked Castiel's other punches aimed at his face before striking out again, this time a devastating right-cross that slammed into the assassin's cheek, causing him to momentarily stumble.

However, before he could recover, the first man that he had thrown down to the ground shot up from his spot and tackled Castiel down, making him grunt in pain as the two men rolled a few times from so much momentum.

Then, Castiel could feel his legs slip off of the edge of the roof, followed quickly by his torso, and he automatically raised his arms and squeezed his fingers along the very corner of the unforgiving stone to catch himself.

His fingers, however, were too cold, feeling numb from the chilly weather, and it was with great reluctance that Castiel released his shaky hold on the roof and dropped to the ground.

As soon as his feet had touched the boardwalk of the dock area below, he was abruptly spun around in his place and a thick forearm was pressed against his collarbone, forcing him back against the closest wall.

The master assassin had long since accepted his impending death, knowing that it had no choice but to be a bloody one.

That was something that every assassin knew, and it was with no fear that Castiel blinked open his eyes to look upon ravenous, green orbs staring straight at him.

"Just who in the hell are you? Answer me!" Dean demanded gruffly, bringing his free hand up to the top of Castiel's pointed white hood and roughly yanking down the thick fabric so he may see the culprit properly.

Castiel said nothing, even as he watched as Dean's features softened considerably now that he could see him, most of the heat drained from his jade-colored eyes as he gazed in awe over this man within his grasp.

The assassin's jet-black hair was delightfully ruffled, his eyes the color of a bright summer sky lowering from Dean's relentless gaze, his features pale and beautiful against the dreary void of night, and Dean Winchester was stunned speechless at the gorgeous sight.

"...who are you?" Dean asked more calmly this time, the pressure of his forearm against Castiel's chest lessening considerably as well as he waited for the striking male dressed in long white robes to speak.

Castiel blinked his azure gaze back up to Dean's features, taking a moment to search those cyan depths, seeing the natural beauty there, the strength, as well as the large break in his soul, before the assassin relaxed his shoulders prior to speaking.

"What does it matter...?" Castiel asked the question rhetorically as he blinked again, totally at ease with the words coming from his mouth regardless of the confused shock now becoming the Winchester, "...you should just kill me and be done with it."

Dean's eyebrows rose and his lips parted as he took a step back from the mysterious man, no words being able to form within his mind as he considered the beautiful male before him so easily ready to lie down his life for the sake of honor.

"Dean...?" one of the workers asked from somewhere behind Winchester, barely catching the blonde-haired male's attention away from looking straight into sapphire blue orbs that watched him steadily, as if waiting for his wish to be granted, "...uh, boss...? What are we going to do with him?"

Dead blinked his eyes a few times at the question, having to visibly shake his head a few times and snap himself out of his own reverie as he slowly dropped his arm from pinning Castiel back against the wall.

"Get some rope..." Dean called back to the men still remaining at his flank, before casting his emerald gaze back on the assassin's lovely features, "...we're taking him with us."

"You got it, boss," the henchman nodded at the order, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he cast his glinting gaze towards the quiet culprit in the midst.

Dean took another step away from Castiel, turned around, and glared hard at the goon who had spoken to him.

"Oh, and one more thing..." Dean called loudly for all to hear, still eying his henchman so he knew he meant him specifically before looking back towards the white-clad male still standing in his spot, appearing ready to receive his fate no matter what that might mean, "...no one touches him."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Third Person POV_

A little while later...

Castiel sat cross-legged in the back of one of the carts as several of Winchester's men hauled him as well as other goods back into town.

His arms were bound behind his back, several of his knives taken from his person, and his hood was still lowered as he rode in complete silence, his eyes closed as he conserved his strength.

Finally, he felt the horse-drawn cart come to a stop as he slowly opened his eyes, already hearing as several men walked to the rear of the cart so they could open the doors.

Castiel wet his lips with his tongue as he watched as the doors were flung open, revealing one goon Castiel did not recognize as well as a smirking Dean Winchester.

The dark-haired assassin tried to not wince as the two men grabbed his arms and pulled him out of the cart, Castiel's shoulders aching a little under the strain as well as his injured hand throbbing with pain as he stood on the paved cobblestone walkway and looked upon a vast estate.

Long wrought-iron gates bordered a towering manor located in the center of beautiful gardens with pathways that wound throughout the trees to provide for entertaining walks around the territory.

Castiel was able to clearly see just how wide and decadent the estate was despite the late hour of the evening, and he knew exactly where he was.

Winchester Manor.

Another pull on his forearm and the three of them approached the gate, Castiel purposefully not looking over to Dean as he paid particular mind to his new surroundings, noticing doorways, the area of the gate that they had entered through, which trails lead where, and which lights were on in the windows that he could see.

Information was already being stored within the master assassin's mind as he was ushered inside the manor through, he noticed, a door on the eastern end of the place; not the front entrance to which he knew there would have been butlers and attendants to welcome Winchester.

Castiel's train of thought was cut short as he felt Dean's hands smooth down his back, effectively pushing him inside an unlit conservatory, the hired henchman closing the door behind them all.

"Boss...what about the rest of the cargo...?" the goon asked fairly of his employer, his words stopping Dean in his tracks and causing the assassin to cast a curious look towards him as well.

"Load what we brought into the back...we'll have to go back for the rest in the morning," the tall, blonde male easily concocted their next move, turning back to face him as he squared his shoulders a little more.

The man nodded his understanding before turning back towards the same door from which they had came in and then hurried back outside to see to Dean's orders of their purchased goods.

Dean turned towards a silent Castiel, locking eyes with him despite the darkness and smirked.

"You're coming with me..." Winchester announced in a voice laced with simmering heat, as he wrapped his fingers around Castiel's upper bicep and steered him out of the conservatory and towards a red-carpeted staircase, barely giving the black-haired male a chance to peek at the lavish Winchester Manor.

From the small glimpses he could catch of the place, Castiel could see rich, dark wooden furniture lining the lower rooms, beautiful stone sculptures against blood-red walls highlighted with the soft golden glows from overhanging chandeliers.

The manor was beyond impressive to behold but before Castiel could process too much more of the area, he and Dean had reached the second story of the manor and the assassin was suddenly shoved into one of the many room that lined the corridor.

Castiel lifted his dark head, wide blue eyes immediately drinking in the lovely details of the simple private study, noticing the filled bookshelves, purple-velvet daybed, and wooden desk with several matching chairs.

All of the items looked expensive and sophisticated and purchased with dirty money to the assassin's sharp eyes.

The white-dressed man spun around in his place upon hearing the door lock snap in place, frozen-water eyes narrowing at the light smirk curling one side of Dean's handsome face as he stepped to one corner of the room where a small, round table stood with various crystal bottles of liquor.

"...can I get you a drink?" Dean asked plainly, easy charm in his low voice as if he and the stranger had been comrades for years as he lifted the ornate top off of one of the bottles and began pouring the amber liquor into a glass.

"No..." Castiel replied simply, his bound hands behind his back trying to maneuver in just the right way so he may manually activate his hidden blades, Dean's henchmen having failed to remove those from him as they had with his more visible daggers.

Dean glanced over to the black-haired male as he finished pouring the single glass, replaced the bottle, and then lifted the glass to his own lips.

The assassin felt wholly uncomfortable standing there as he was in such a place, subject to that relentless stare that seemed to be searching everything about him, and Castiel noticed that his hands trembled a little while he pulled against the ropes in secret.

"...you don't talk much, do you?" Dean posed the cheeky question with another smile towards the stoic male, taking his glass in hand and stepping away from the table and towards Castiel, "...that's alright...but I really would like to know your name...maybe you'd tell me that?"

The man in white needed to stall for more time, his fingers not being able to reach the trigger inside his thick leather gauntlet to spring the blade, and it was with a rapidly beating heart that Castiel opened his mouth to reply.

"Castiel...my name...is Castiel," he answered honestly, lowering his ocean-blue eyes from Dean's intense gaze, as the assassin realized he had had no prior training on how to deal with such intimacy being shown to him from another like this.

Dean sipped more of his drink before lowering the glass and revealing a pleased, gorgeous smile.

"...beautiful name, really...fitting for someone like you," Dean commented, gaining Castiel's surprised gaze instantly as he halted all movement from his hands behind his back.

However, with another drink, Dean turned away from Castiel and headed towards one of the chairs by the desk, sitting down with a sigh and then tilting his head while he considered the mysterious man once more.

"So, Castiel..." Dean addressed the black-haired male with his name as he set down his glass, "...what were you doing down by the docks tonight? Why did you attack my men?"

Castiel looked down at the floor before peering to a side towards one of the towering bookcases, knowing that any information revealed would be a betrayal of the Brotherhood.

Green eyes glinted in the pale white light of the room.

"Now, Cas...don't clam up on me now...we were just getting to know each other," Dean goaded the other male half-way playfully and half-way seriously as he watched as the assassin looked at everything else in the room except him.

"_I don't know why I am not thinking straight..."_ Castiel's mind warred with itself, causing red-painted doubt to manifest within the far corners of his conscious and judgment, as the mere idea of telling this stunning male the truth about himself seemed almost too good to resist...even it meant his ultimate betrayal, _"...I don't know why I am so nervous around him...just him..."_

Before he could even fully realize it, Dean was standing right in front of him again, having stood back up from his chair and walked the few paces to him and clasped him on his shoulders, demanding his attention.

"Dammit, Castiel...I need to know!" Dean spoke firmly as he bore his commanding gaze into Castiel's striking features, Winchester's moss-green gaze unable to help but trace over each of his blue eyes, down his straight nose, across his full lips...waiting for an answer.

Castiel licked his lips before speaking.

"My orders were to kill you...it seems that I have failed," the truthful words escaped from the assassin's mouth before he could stop them, and Castiel immediately felt a wave of relief cast over him but then slowly give way to trepidation.

He had betrayed.

Dean took a step back from Castiel, his hands removed, and his eyes blinked owlishly a few times as he processed the dark-haired male's words to him.

"Orders, huh? Now we're getting somewhere..." Dean had taken the revelation better than Castiel had predicted as the taller male no longer looked fearful of Castiel and in its stead was intrigue, sheer curiosity, and unquestionable arousal.

"Who were the orders from, Cas? Who told you to kill me...?" Dean asked another question, but no sooner had the last word left his mouth did Castiel finally manage to release his hidden blade from his right arm which cut right through the ropes around his wrists.

Castiel was on the move within a blink of an eye, sprinting towards an unsuspecting Dean Winchester with his right arm crossed over his chest, ready to deliver a devastating strike across his opponent's exposed throat.

However, Dean had been faster to react than he had predicted, dodging the slash that had been aimed at his vital spots, before he then grabbed Castiel's arm.

Dean pivoted around Castiel so that he faced his back and out of striking range with his grip still tight on the assassin's forearm, as he rushed the smaller but strong male forward until he had the side of Castiel's face pressed against several spines of books that were neatly stacking along the wall.

Castiel had his eyes shut as he tried to free himself from Dean's crushing grip on his arm and solid presence directly behind him, but shivered the moment he felt Dean's warm breath ghost across the back of his neck.

The master assassin could feel the hard muscles of Dean's perfectly sculpted body meld against his own, slowly adding more pressure as Dean's chest pushed against his shoulders and his stomach against his back, and Castiel knew that his instinct to fight and resist was quickly fading from him.

"Nice...very nice...you have been trained well...that blow would have killed me for sure..." Dean breathed the words against the black-haired man's cheek, causing Castiel to slowly open his eyes as he felt Dean's other hand lightly hold onto his waist while his other still had his raised arm pinned against the books.

"...get...get off of me..." Castiel managed to voice out loud but as soon as the sounds of his own voice left him, he realized that even his words no longer had any fight left within them, every inch of his body feeling wonderfully sluggish and he could have hummed in cotton-soft pleasure as he felt as Dean fingers trail up his pinned arm until both of their hands touched.

"What's this...? Your hand is bleeding," Dean spoke to Castiel as he used his careful hold on him to turn him around where he stood so that they now faced each other.

Castiel had totally forgotten about his hand getting cut from a building's rooftop when he had been fighting with Winchester's goons, and it was with his palm turned upward and Dean's hand cradling his own in between their bodies that he looked down to finally see the extent of the wounds.

Several scrapes carved over his palm, a few pieces of stone still visibly lodged underneath a couple layers of his toughened skin, which had stained his flesh with a dark red from the forgotten blood having long ago dried there.

"I bet this happened when you were running from me and my men..." Dean concluded aloud as he continued to stare at the small lines of separated flesh that marred Castiel's pale skin, a wound that the assassin had seen and dealt with countless times while being in the Brotherhood.

"It's...it's nothing, really...don't trouble yourself with..." Castiel had attempted to voice to the eldest Winchester brother, but his thoughts were cut short as Dean kept their hands interlaced and walked them both over to the small, round table that housed the liquor collection.

Dean held the assassin's hand a little higher, closer to the light so he could see better, before he flicked his gaze back to curious blue watching him steadily.

"This might hurt a little..." Dean warned in good faith before bringing his other hand to Castiel's palm and mindfully removing the shards of stone from his tender flesh, making small droplets of fresh blood ooze from the openings.

Castiel licked his lips again, not understanding why Dean was doing this for him...why he was helping him...and why he looked so concerned for him all at the same time.

It was strange to witness and even more confusing to try to figure out how it was making him feel, in turn, for Dean Winchester.

Tiny stone pieces removed, Dean reached towards the table and retrieved the opened bottle of liquor, knowing that he now needed to clean the wounds decorating the assassin's hand.

Another exchange between green and blue and then Dean poured a generous amount of the high-quality booze directly over Castiel's palm.

Castiel hissed through his teeth in pain at the burning sensations of his cuts being drowned in alcohol, feeling Dean's hold on his injured hand tighten only a fraction more as if in apology, before Winchester hurriedly reached into his pocket and retrieved a white kerchief.

"There now...good as new," Dean smirked at the black-haired male before him as he dabbed the material a few times against his palm before looping it around his hand a few times and then tying it securely in place.

Castiel's lips parted but no sound came out as he lowered his eyes, gratitude and befuddlement taking turns outweighing one another within him, and he submissively stepped closer to Dean in response to the light tug on his hand.

Then, suddenly his mind was clear...his worrying vanished, and Castiel felt time itself slow down between them inside this room as he looked back up to Dean with serene features this time, no more confusion or doubt present within him anymore...not for this one, peaceful moment.

The assassin's breath caught as he felt Dean Winchester's fingers lightly trace over his cheek, somber green holding his azure gaze and not letting him go, as they both gravitated even closer to one another, close enough that Castiel's mindlessly lifted up both of his hands to Dean's chest.

His cobalt blue eyes felt exponentially heavier as their noses touched and Castiel could taste Dean's warm breath on his lips, the blonde-haired man's palm sliding further along his jaw until his fingers could tangle in messy black locks.

"...Winchester...I could...kill you...at this range, I could..." Castiel whispered the words he let his eyes slip closed, Dean's nose and lips barely rubbing against his own as Winchester truly savored being this close to the mysterious man, his thumb gently stroking over the assassin's high cheekbone all the while.

"...then go right ahead...it'll be worth it to taste you..." Dean answered huskily, green eyes blinking one more time at the captivating sight right in front of him before closing as well.

Upon hearing such bold words that had sent millions of bolts of white-hot electricity to course throughout his entire body, something he had never experienced before right down to the tips of his toes, Castiel curled his fingers along Dean's long, grey jacket and welcomed the taller male into a deep, sensuous kiss.

Upon feeling the other's lips, Dean instantly wrapped his other arm around Castiel's waist, hugging the shorter male closer to him as he cradled the side of his jaw against his large palm, Winchester feeling absolutely beside himself that Castiel was squeezing the fabric at his chest as if he never wanted to let him go.

Slow and measured, Dean moved his petal-soft lips against Castiel's, loving how the assassin was not resisting him in the least, before the two of them parted but only to reconnect quickly and at a much more intimate angle.

Castiel purred quietly in mesmerizing tranquility as he felt Dean's fingers slide down his jaw and the side of his neck, still holding him, still needing to kiss him, as the arm around his waist was warm and heavy and every bit as comforting as Castiel had thought it would be.

Castiel parted his lips for breath as he trailed his hands higher along Dean's chest until he could card his fingers through spiky, blonde locks.

Lips met again, hungrier this time, more comfortable and wanton, and Castiel could not suppress the small groan that left him upon feeling Dean slide his warm, velvet-soft tongue inside his mouth.

Two hands were on Castiel's face now as Dean kissed him harder, taking a step forward and forcing Castiel to take a step back to accommodate, as he tasted the assassin's mouth and swirled their tongues together in a blazing rush that sent scorching waves of desire to tease at their very souls.

Castiel could feel his senses betraying him, threatening to abandon him and instead let something totally foreign flood through him in their wake...and within the speed of his next thought, Castiel abruptly broke off their kiss, retracing his hands and gaining distance from the handsome, blonde man currently warping his mind.

That much blissful fulfillment was utterly terrifying to the master assassin and it was with no words that Castiel pushed Dean back into the bookcase and then marched towards the closest window, needing in vain even more distance and a chance to forget what had just happened...even if it would be a lie.

Just as the black-haired male had threw open the duel panes of the glass window, Dean called out to him.

"Wait!" Winchester voiced, causing Castiel to still his hands on the ledge and look towards him from over his shoulder, "...if we don't see each other by then...meet me back here in four days...four days."

Castiel hesitated.

The offer sounded pleasing, just what he himself would have wanted to do.

An agreement was already springing forth in his mind to voice...but...

But again, years of intense training and strict rules continued to choke his feelings and block out his words; what he really wanted.

Castiel blinked at the sight of worried, moss-green eyes before nodding briefly to the offer and then dove out of the opened window, effectively disappearing into the inky shades of night and leaving Dean Winchester alive and alone with their forbidden agreement now made between them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Third Person POV_

The next day...

Castiel briskly walked into the grand hall of the fortress, high stone walls on either side of him blanketed in ruby-red tapestries all holding the crest of their Brotherhood, as the black-haired male stopped before three seated men dressed in black.

"Brother Castiel..." one of them addressed the master assassin as he knelt down to one knee, bowing his caped head in shame as well as respect of the others, "...why did you fail in your last mission with one Dean Winchester of the Winchester Fratello? We need him dead!"

Castiel swallowed hard, having been unable to forget that man even for the smallest of moments since their time together.

He could not forget those luscious lips of his and the way they had felt against his own, followed by his rich, spicy taste and inviting presence that had wholly commandeered his every attention that night.

Castiel lifted his head slightly to speak.

"Grandmaster Raphael...there were men on the docks...too many that had not been accounted for," Castiel spoke the less-than truthful words to his superiors, damning the consequences if, for nothing else, then how truly happy he had been in Dean's arms that night, "...I fought with most of them, but Dean and a few others escaped."

"Hmm...this is not like you. I am severely disappointed in you, Castiel," Raphael's otherwise smooth voice echoed off of the carved walls of the large hall, making Castiel lower his gaze and accept the meaning of such detrimental words.

"Now, now...Brother Raphael," spoke a much calmer voice from another of the Heads of the Brotherhood, "...I believe this is the first time that Castiel's work has been anything less than perfect. He deserves another chance. Besides, we knew what we were asking of him when he assigned him to the Winchester case. They have not gotten where they are now on sheer luck alone."

At this, Castiel raised his gaze and sought out Grandmaster Michael who had spoken up for him, watching with beaming gratitude in his azure eyes as Michael offered him a small smile in kind.

Raphael sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"What do you think, Grandmaster Uriel?" Raphael turned to the contemplating man on his right for another opinion, and Castiel's cobalt gaze snapped to his personal friend.

"Give him sixteen hours of combat training...as punishment. I also believe that this will not happen again...aren't I right, Castiel?" Urial spoke evenly, his words wise and thought out, as he ended his idea with a question, giving Castiel another chance to speak and redeem himself.

"Absolutely. I will complete this mission in the name of the Brotherhood," Castiel affirmed, bowed his head, and then rose to his feet so he may take his leave.

"_...what do I do now...?"_ thought the dark-haired assassin glumly as he pulled his hood a little lower over his brow before exiting the hall and heading towards the training grounds.

The sun was shining brightly overhead, casting down rays of pure white if one were to look directly, and Castiel sighed to relieve a little of his stress before he was greeted on the training grounds by another assassin and comrade.

"Castiel...you're looking well," a tall, lanky male dressed in white robes and no hood smirked at his approaching friend, two swords in his hands.

"Hello, Inias...I guess you've heard about...my last mission," Castiel lamented and got right the to point of their conversation, the master assassin himself having a hard time saying the word 'failure' despite it being the honest truth.

Inias nodded and then tossed one of the swords to Castiel who caught it easily and then tested its weight in his grip.

"A few of us know..." the tall, younger assassin admitted as he assumed a fencing stance, challenging Castiel to spar and complete some of his mandatory training with him, "...it's so unlike you, though, brother...what really happened?"

Castiel slid into a fighting stance as well, body slightly turned, both hands on the sword that followed the line of his back leg towards the ground, a humbling sight as if he was reluctant to fight, sorrowful of the fact.

Truth be told, Castiel knew that between the two of them, Inias was the better swordsman.

Castiel had been an assassin longer than the younger male, but Inias had come to the Brotherhood with natural talent with long swords.

Castiel had always preferred shorter blades and daggers.

"It's not your concern," Castiel growled out lowly before Inias swung his sword down, meeting Castiel's upward swing that clanged loudly together amidst the otherwise quiet courtyard.

The muscles in Castiel's arms tightened as both struggled trying to knock the other off balance with raw strength alone, Inias being the first to break away as he instead spun on his heel to deliver another attack to Castiel's flank.

"Come on, Brother Castiel...surely something must have happened..." Inias spoke as he moved, Castiel parrying his expertly executed strikes one after another as the younger man proceeded further, "...I only ask because we're worried about you."

Castiel smirked at that, dodging the last attack before moving in with one of his own, aiming for Inias' throat, as he replied, "...I'm not losing my touch that easily, Inias."

Inias escaped the strike with a low twist of his body, his shoulder shoving into Castiel's side to push him backwards while he ascended with a skilled lunge of his sword.

"Neither am I, Castiel!" Inias exclaimed as he slashed towards the older assassin, hitting his sword at an awkward angle in Castiel's hands, causing his own blade to move and the edge of Inias' sword sliced a single cut across Castiel's cheek.

Castiel winced slightly from the pain but quickly recovered as he righted his blade and then parried again.

"...even I can see it, brother...you are distracted...your mind is not on this fight..." Inias spoke to Castiel's face in between their crossed blades, a smile tugging his thin lips at the black-haired male as he continued, "...that wound on your face is proof of it."

Castiel's jaw ticked.

He had been distracted.

Inias's words were the truth and Castiel could not help but feel a flare of heated rage towards the younger assassin for noticing such a tremendous weakness currently gripping him.

A few lines of blood slid down his cheek from the cut and with a deep breath, Castiel succeeded in pushing Inias's sword back with a burst of strength.

Using the momentum of the younger assassin having his guard lowered, Castiel kicked Inias's hand and forced his sword to spring up into the air.

With a fast snap of his wrist, Castiel launched two small throwing knives at the air-born sword, the first blade hitting the steel away just in time to avoid Inias' grasp; the second blade hitting it in just the right place to send the sword flying away from the two of them, removing it from their fight completely.

Inias carelessly looked towards his unreachable sword and in that split second, Castiel swiftly moved behind the young assassin, his sword positively radiating light underneath the brilliance of the sun overhead as he held it steadily against Inias's neck.

"My...well..." Inias held up his hands in surrender, a small smirk curving his features as he stayed still in the presence of Castiel's victorious blade and narrowed eyes from over his shoulder, "...I guess the stories they say about you are true...Castiel...you are a frightening man."

Castiel sighed silently before lowering his sword, walking up next to Inias and handing him the blade, knowing that their match was over and that nothing more needed to be said between them right now.

With that, Castiel lowered his hood from his face and then walked away from Inias and the courtyard, not paying any attention to the few onlookers standing here and there around the enclosed area that had observed his match.

Castiel brought up a hand to his face, wiping away some of the blood from his jaw, inadvertently smearing the thick red that was there, as he continued down one of the many pathways that lead around the fortress.

"_What do I do now..."_ Castiel found his thoughts repeating as he lowered his hands back to his sides as he walked, _"...and I only have three days left."_

Even though Castiel could feel depression and confusion trying to manifest within himself, trying to cloud his judgment and make his decision for him, the black-haired assassin could still forget the pain currently blossoming from his injured cheek and remember Dean Winchester's breathtaking smile at him.

Eyes the color of rare jade had glistened and darkened with something much more powerful than either of them had let on that evening as Dean had tended to him so carefully, and then had kissed him with a fire Castiel had never known possible in a man.

Castiel licked his lips in thought and for the first time in his entire life, he mentally cursed the Brotherhood for their orders.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Two days later..._

"I don't get what's with you lately;" Sam Winchester, the youngest of the two Winchester brothers of the Fratello questioned his older brother once more as they walked together down one of the lengthy corridors of the manor, preparing to report in to the father, "...you seem different...like you don't care what we're doing anymore."

At this, Dean snapped his head towards his younger but taller sibling, fixing him with a stern expression while they strode through the beautifully decorated house.

"Don't be stupid, Sammy...of course I care about what we're doing...it's just..." Dean had started off strongly in reprimanding his younger brother but his words trailed off as a sudden vision, the same one he had been having for the passed few days, overtook his mind and made his memory swell with thoughts of full pink lips and crystal-blue eyes that looked too stunning and sad for words.

"Aha! So there is something...tell me, Dean...tell me what's wrong," Sam almost had a smile on his face as he poked at his usually unreadable brother for more information, the younger truly enjoying their time together at Dean's expense.

The older brother rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Nothing...okay, Sam?" Dean's deep voice held no nonsense whatsoever in his reply back, as the pair of them rounded the last corner and approached the library where their father would be, "...can we please just drop it and carry on like normal? Alright?"

"Fine, fine...whatever you say. All I'm saying is that you've been acting strange...weren't you on the docks a few nights ago?" Sam posed another question, casting a side-glance over towards Dean as they slowed their steps, the taller male still trying to get some information to slip.

"Drop it!" Dean roared but then the both of them hushed up immediately upon approaching their standing father, another one of his guards by his side while he looked over a few papers.

"Boys, in here now," John Winchester called evenly, barely looking up from the documents in his hands as he addressed the two of them.

Dean steeled his jaw and sharpened his gaze as he and his brother stepped forward towards their powerful, governing father.

Smokey hazel eyes, the same color as Sam's but with more years behind them, more pain and more hard-earned knowledge, finally flicked up to look between Dean and Sam for a moment before John set the papers down on the table next to his other associate in the expansive room, his bulky stature leaning against the solid wood.

"Yes...you wanted to see us, father...?" Dean spoke up first, his usually rich tone seeming to fall short in the presence of one John Winchester, head of the Winchester Fratello, as he clasped his hands behind his back as he usually did whence they held meetings like this.

"You two..." John preambled, looking pointedly at them both before tapping a few of his fingers against the wooden table, "...have been doing excellent work. Our shipments went out smoothly just like I said they would. You made the Fratello look good to a lot of our buyers. You understand what I'm saying...?"

"Yes sir!" Dean and Sam both replied in unison, both of their postures straightening with evident pride at receiving such praise from their typically strict father and commander of their organization.

John nodded.

The bodyguard beside him shifted his weight where he stood, merely watching the exchange between the family members.

"All that aside, boys..." the eldest Winchester male continued, his voice somehow becoming even more grave in nature, with even more roughened grit behind his words that the others instantly picked up on the more he spoke on a different topic, "...something has come up. Why don't you tell them about it, Benny?"

The guard stepped forward to speak to Dean and Sam Winchester.

"Some of our men across town have been noticing that more and more people that we do business with have been dropping dead..." Benny began, his slow, easy-going voice delivering shocking news to the Winchester brothers in the room as he paused to let them absorb as much.

"Dropping dead? How do you mean?" Sam piped up with a question, the same question that had immediately zoomed across Dean's own mind upon hearing such findings.

"Murdered, Sam...he means they've been murdered," John answered his son's question.

"And not just murdered...there was Azazel out near the east docks...Edgar in town square...and just recently Alistair inside his very own church. Two of them were found in broad daylight... they all were assassinated," Benny continued to report the latest news to them all, his hands in his jacket pockets as his drawl lingered heavily in the spacious room.

"Assassinated..." Dean had heard the word just fine, but it had registered a totally different meaning with him...it had meant long white robes , deadly skills, and piercing, lovely blue eyes staring right back at him, "...how can you know that for sure?"

"So far, there have been no eye witnesses or even anyone who thought they might have seen something out of the ordinary...but there is one thing..." Benny began to elaborate more in depth of the Fratello's research over the passed several months on the matter, "...every one of them was killed with a single blow to a fatal area. There wasn't a struggle that went on beforehand and there were no other wounds inflicted on the bodies...almost like the killer was trained to know exactly how to strike and when to strike these men."

Dean's mind raced with the new information, able to recall Castiel's uncanny speed, his agility as he had fought with his men that night on the pier, and the way he had easily injured several of them and had almost ended everything for the eldest Winchester brother himself once he had had him alone.

His training and expertise in the art of efficient combat had been clear.

And Castiel had even admitted, cryptically at the time, that he had been given orders to kill Dean...

Dean Winchester swallowed hard, the words swimming inside his brain, loud and clear as a bell ringing even though the more he heard his inner voice repeating them, the more sense it began to make.

_Castiel is an assassin._

"However, since we do not have any leads on this at the moment, we are going to spread the word that the Fratello will personally reward the man or woman who can give us one of these so-called assassins," John spoke calmly and with finality in his words to the three of them, as if such a revelation of trained killers being after him did not bother him in the least, "...we need to know why they're meddling in our affairs and put an end to it."

"Yes sir!" only Sam replied this time, Dean having remained as silent as a graveyard throughout his father's speech, emerald-green eyes sliding down to the floor pensively.

"Everyone is dismissed. I need to get some work done," the head of the Fratello concluded their meeting as he maneuvered to the back of the table and sat down at one of the large wooden chairs, signaling to the rest to take their leave.

Benny, Sam, and Dean all exited the library, Benny with his usual devil-may-care expression on his face and Sam appearing alert and thoughtful in light of their recent news.

Dean was last to exit the room, his brows scrunched together and a frown fixed firmly on his handsome features as he

"Well...I'll be seeing you, boys. Watch your backs, you hear me..." Benny announced his departure from the brothers with a courteous nod of his head before he turned left and navigated down the south stairs.

"Hey, Dean, would you want to..." Sam had attempted to invite his older brother out for a drink but was cut off by Dean's less than steady voice.

"Sorry, Sam...I have to go. I'll see you later, alright?" Dean strode away from his younger brother, ignoring the way Sam had raised an eyebrow at him and then shrugged his shoulders at his obvious haste.

"_He's going to be here tomorrow...well, maybe...he might not show...but what if he does...what the hell am I supposed to do...!"_ Dean's mind went back and forth between questions and answers, between hope and denial, as the eldest of the Winchester brothers stormed through the halls of the impressive manor and tried to make a decision.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_The next night..._

Dean Winchester raised a hand to rifle through his own short blonde locks, taking a moment to look over the letter he was in the process of writing to one of his father's closest comrades and a valued member of their organization, as he sat and loomed over the papers lain out messily on his desk.

A white candle burned solemnly next to him as he brought his pen back down on the paper, adding a few more notes and then read over his words once more.

John Winchester had asked him to look over the next week's schedule of shipments due to arrive and to inform the Winchester Fratello's most prominent business associate who only went by the name Crowley regarding the prices they were asking and the goods in stock.

Word had gotten around that Benny had taken a crew out to the Tyrrhenian Sea a few weeks ago and had infiltrated several merchant ships, confiscating weapons and rare currency that had been cargo with the upper-class vendors, which the Winchester Fratello was now putting up for bid with their most prestigious customers.

The Winchesters knew that Crowley would be interested in what they were selling, and as Dean finished writing the last of the letter notifying of the auction that was to take place in another few weeks, he sat back in his chair and folded the parchment which was to be later sent by courier to Verona.

Dean sighed pensively, casting a glance up from his desk to the double windows before him, blackened with night and wet with the pouring rainwater.

Too many thoughts had been troubling him as of late.

Dean personally dreaded the upcoming auction of their recently acquired goods, as he and Sam were always given the task of overseeing the guarding of the manor as John and a few chosen others hosted the auction and moved priceless goods in and out as quickly as possible.

Dean had always felt that he needed to be by his father, helping him; helping him run the auction since one day he would have to take on such responsibilities himself.

"_...right?_ _I mean...that is what I want...isn't it...?"_ Dean could not help but ask himself the heavy question once again, the same one that had been occurring to him more times recently than he would ever care to admit, as the eldest Winchester son lifted a hand and scrubbed it across his face.

_...tap...tap..._

Dean dropped his head immediately and raised his head, green eyes looking left and right in response to the sound for a moment before peering straight ahead toward the window.

A figure shrouded in grey with a hood pulled down low was perched on the windowpane outside, his long white robes being pushed from the rushing wind of the rainstorm and Dean quickly jumped to his feet and marched towards the glass.

Winchester's heart thudded inside his chest as he unhooked the latch to the windows and then threw open the double panes, letting Castiel step inside his personal chambers.

Dean watched as the other man crawled inside, his movements careful as he planted his feet on the carpeted floor and then shut the windows to ward off the impending cold and rain from which he had just came.

"Here you are..." Dean mused with a nod of his head, remembering in an instant why he had wanted the enigmatic assassin the come back to see him, as he licked his lips at the way Castiel looked towards the burning candles on the table and then brought his hood away from his face to rest down on his shoulders.

"Yes...though, I'm not really sure why..." Castiel admitted as he slid his gaze from the small formations of fire to Dean even hotter gaze directed solely on him.

Their eyes steadily held for another solid minute before Castiel had to look away, and that was all the provocation Dean needed to begin walking the short distance over to him.

Dean could feel that his nerves had settled, his anxiety gone, even about other issues, as his mind was miraculously clear and he knew what he wanted to do.

Castiel provided him that clarity, that ease of his problems no matter how deeply rooted, and Dean needed to be closer to the gorgeous creature that had come to him just as he had asked only a few short days ago.

Those days had felt like another lifetime to them both just the same, but now their moment had come again for them to finally discover what was happening between them.

"I don't know either...I'm glad you came...I wanted to see you," Dean spoke plainly to the black-haired male, watching those ocean-blue eyes sparkle at his words as he stepped directly in front of Castiel and brought a hand to his face.

Castiel suddenly backed away from Dean, lowering his chin and his eyes as he obviously struggled with his own thoughts and avoided Dean's touch.

"Stop this..." Castiel forced the words from his mouth, his eyebrows knit in worry, as his fists clenched and unclenched down at his sides a few times while he continued, "...I can't...I...I shouldn't be here..."

Castiel took one step towards the window, but Dean's iron-clad grip on his arm stopped all of his movements, causing pained blue to flick towards stern green.

"You can't just..." Dean had begun to voice strongly but softened his gaze and loosened his hold along the sopping wet white material currently in his grasp," ...you're soaked totally through, Cas."

Castiel frowned, knowing Dean's words to be true, as he noticed the way his lengthy robes were dripping onto the carpet below.

The assassin let Dean turn him so they faced each other once more, Dean not taking his hands off of either of Castiel's sleeves.

"You could catch one hell of a cold wearing wet clothes, you know..." Dean said with gentle smirk, able to see that he was breaking down the barriers the blue-eyed male had previously set up around himself, as the two of them inched even closer still, and this time, Castiel did not move away when Dean trailed his fingers down one of his cheeks, "...let me help you."

Castiel swallowed hard but said no words of protest as Dean began unbuckling the many leather straps that criss-crossed over his chest and waist, all of them holding various knives and daggers that were covered by the folds of his robes but were now easily lowered to the floor.

"Dean...I uh..." the assassin was having trouble voicing a complete sentence aloud as his thick gauntlets were removed, the long blades staying hidden, as they were lain down on the desk Dean had been working at prior to his arrival.

"What is it, Cas? Talk to me..." Dean replied, his eyes still focused on his task at hand of slowly stripping away the damp material from Castiel's upper body and draping them along the back of the wooden chair to dry.

The black-haired man placed his hands on Dean's, Castiel's torso bared and gleaming in the low light of the room, as he spoke somberly.

"I'm glad I came to see you, too..." Castiel replied the honest answer, grinning at the way Dean's eyes darkened and a most handsome smile curved his lips as well.

Dean licked his lips and interlaced their fingers together.

"Come here..." Dean practically purred as he lead Castiel over towards his large, extravagantly made bed where the wooden canopy frame provided rich hues that complimented well with the royal purple and dark red accents of the duvet and overstuffed pillows that lined the top.

Boots were quickly kicked off and the two men simply lie across the width of the bed rather than the length, the pliant blankets rumpling around them as they settled next to each other.

Castiel breathed easier, the thought occurring firmly inside his mind that lounging on such a comfortable mattress and blankets was a far better circumstance than immersing himself back outside in the poor weather and ignoring Dean.

He felt soothed, he felt in control even though he did not know what the next minute would bring...he felt wholesome.

Castiel smiled as he heard Dean also rid himself of his jacket and shirt underneath, the blonde-haired male only then leaning down close to the assassin, letting his chest touch Castiel's side as Dean brought a hand to his shoulders.

"Holy hell, Cas..." Dean whispered, possibly more to himself than to the black-haired male before him, as Winchester slowly, softly trailed his fingers along the many lines of repaired flesh that decorated Castiel's arms and back, "...there are so many..."

Castiel's eyes lowered to the bedspread just beyond his nose as he continued to rest his chin on the mattress, his entire body feeling impossibly lethargic and drained of fight for once in his life, not even possessing the will to move an inch for a blessed moment more.

"Some were from training...most of them were from jobs..." Castiel admitted as he could feel his skin tingle where Dean would touch him with such intimate praise and intricacy that the assassin felt as if he could be lulled into a deep sleep from such ministrations.

"You mean...when you were sent to kill people," Dean spoke fairly but not harshly, his words causing Castiel's eyes to open upon hearing the truth being spoken to him from someone not in the Brotherhood.

Castiel wanted to say yes, to admit to it, and had even licked his lips so he may speak more comfortably but remained silent and instead carefully rolled over to lie on his back so he may look at Dean Winchester.

Dean looked over saddened cobalt blue peering up at him and he could not help but bring a hand to that strong jaw and luscious pink lips, anchoring the two of them together even more so as Dean lowered his weight down and softly pressed their lips together.

The kiss was simple and precious, making Castiel melt into the warmth of Dean's smooth chest touching his front while his back sank a little deeper into the cloud-like mattress behind him, as the assassin trailed his fingers across Dean's large hands and up his arms.

"...you don't have to say anything, Cas..." Dean breathed the words against Castiel's lips, the Winchester male's fingers threading in and out of coal-black hair as fine as silk, as he ran his nose over the assassin's recently scarred cheek and pressed another small kiss there, "...I know."

At those words, words that were kept vague and open and all-encompassing of everything there was to know about the quiet assassin without even providing as much, Castiel felt his throat constrict for a second with the need to weep.

But Castiel did not cry, burying the feeling, relishing in it as it had struck him so firmly...such happiness.

Unbridled.

Unquestioned.

Wonderful.

Perhaps neither male fully understood this connection they felt for the other, the reasons why their touches felt so pure and right...

All Castiel knew in this moment was that Dean was the first person to ever care for him in this way...to express concern for his well-being and joy when their eyes met; their kisses acting like greetings and unspoken pleas for permission...permission that was granted each time and neither questioned a thing about it.

The dark-haired assassin wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, something wholly significant finding its rightful place within himself and allowing him to finally accept this situation for what it was, as he rolled them over on the bed, pushing aside more of the blankets around them.

"You're stronger than you look..." Dean commented with a lighthearted smile, his palm cradling the side of Castiel's jaw, thumb gently rubbing back and forth across the horizontal scar on his cheekbone as his jade eyes narrowed a bit prior to him continuing, "...how did this one happen? You didn't have it last time."

Castiel brought his fingers to Dean's wrist, trailing over the tanned skin there before politely lowering both of their joined hands to the bed, the assassin stretching his lithe form fully upon the larger male.

"It doesn't matter..." Castiel smiled contentedly as he blinked slowly at the inviting sight before him, his and Dean's noses touching as they remained intimately close, needing the physical contact from the other, "...none of that matters anymore."

Dean mirrored the other man's lazy smile, seeming to understand Castiel's meaning of the surreal escape that they somehow had created only with each other.

Another petal-soft kiss and then Castiel laid his head down upon Dean's broad chest, immediately feeling masculine hands gently smooth down the back his neck and shoulders, making the assassin hum low in his throat as he closed his eyes.

The black-haired male could feel a deep slumber quickly overtaking his senses, lulling him into a safe, tender place that felt too good for words, truly unlike anything he had ever felt before, and as the last of his consciousness gave way to that void, Castiel could have sworn he had heard Dean whisper something aloud.

It had sounded like...angel.


End file.
